Children
by UnnamedElement
Summary: Hermione gets a promotion and panics about not being good enough (what's new?), while Harry talks about his childhood. Ron and Hermione make some big decisions, and everyone gives each other the same advice: slow down. But with kids on the horizon, they soon realize that may not be likely to happen, and that they all have a little growing up to do... / Trio & Co. / One-shot


**Author's note:** This takes place about 6 years after the Second Wizarding War. The trio are around 24 years old and living in Devon, near Ottery St Catchpole and the Weasleys; the Potters and Granger-Weasleys essentially share a backyard. At this point, Harry is still working as an auror, Ron is working with George at Weasley Wizard Wheezes, Hermione is in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and has just been promoted to a new taskforce of sorts related to SPEW, and Ginny has just taken a break from the Holyhead Harpies due to her very soon-to-be-delivered baby. My HP universe is based in canon and pretty extensively fleshed out in my head, so this hopefully reflects a lot of that.

 **Disclaimer:** This idea was inspired by my work. I've wondered for years how the Dursleys managed to keep Social Services out of their hair. Please excuse any ignorance over UK Child Protection systems; I live in the US. (I haven't written Harry Potter fanfiction since I was probably 15, so this is a bit of an experiment. I pumped this out pretty quickly and am therefore aware that the structure is not A++. No beta—all mistakes are mine.) PS: ALWAYS REPORT suspected child abuse and neglect. We're not Dumbledore—we don't know that the kid is gonna be okay.

 **Rated T** for sexual jokes.

* * *

 **CHILDREN**

* * *

 **January 2004  
British Ministry of Magic**

Harry finished his paperwork early that day, and so he had settled into Hermione's tiny office to wait for her to leave. He still preferred apparating sidealong if he could help it, and Ron had been consulting on a case in Cardiff that day for Kingsley instead of working out of Weasleys' Wizards Wheezes as he usually did, and he had sent an owl that he was already home.

Besides, Harry had never much liked apparating with Ron, and found riding with Hermione much more pleasant.

Hermione had barely looked up for the entire half-hour Harry had been sitting there—besides to apologize once for her stomach growling too loudly and to make an excuse about missing meals—and he had been watching her chew her lip and bite her cheek and crack the knuckles on her right hand on and off since he entered her office.

He was trying, however, to think about Ron's Cardiff case in lieu of addressing Hermione's sometimes mildly-manic tics, as it did not seem like a door he would be able to help with much, even if he _did_ open it.

But then Hermione spoke.

"Harry," she said suddenly, looking up from the desk where she was sorting papers into three piles— _now_ , _later,_ and _for someone else to deal with,_ she had told him."Why did no one from Child Protective ever come to your house when you were young?"

Having earlier decided to ignore Hermione's tangible anxiety, Harry was deep in thought about Cardiff, comparing the likelihood of polyjuice potion to imperius, and imperius to tortured-participant, and on and on. He was, at that point, rolling a bit of discarded straw-wrapper between his fingers absentmindedly when she blurted out the question.

He paused in his movement to stare at her.

"Wait, _what_?" he asked, taken aback.

Hermione looked back down at her desk for a moment to straighten the last pile and then pushed them toward the front of her desk so she could lean onto it slightly, hand now against her cheek and chest pressed against the desk's wooden edge.

"Like, Child Protective Services, Harry," she said again. "The Muggle people who check on children to keep them safe."

"Oh," Harry replied quietly, looking down at his fingers and then flicking the tiny balled paper toward Hermione's rubbish bin. "Them."

"Yes, _them_ ," she said shortly. "Why did they never come to your house, Harry? I've always wondered, you know."

"Bit of a strange thing to wonder about," Harry murmured, crossing and uncrossing his legs and considering Hermione as she shrugged in response. He mentally put a bookmark in his Cardiff pondering and resolved to ask Kingsley if the unit had swept for residual spellmarks when they arrived.

Hermione tapped the edge of her long-cold cup of tea in an attempt to capture Harry's attention.

He watched her assessingly as she defended herself.

"Not really so strange," she said. She met his gaze and forged ahead, tapping at the edge of her cup as she spoke. "When I was eight, Child Protection came to see me at school because someone in my class had told their mum my parents wouldn't let me out of my room until I'd memorized my spelling words. And I happened to have a horrid red mark on my wrist at the time, from where Alexander Mickles in Year Five had given me a snakebite for refusing to write the outline for his Religion project on the bus, which might have looked like ligature marks or a bruise from being grabbed by a concerned adult. Of course, in my case, it was all rubbish and a massive misunderstanding, but given my behavior, my parents' expectations for me, and my isolation at school, it wasn't exactly out of the question, I suppose," Hermione finished matter-of-factly.

She flicked her wand at the teapot on the other side of the room, and its blue light clicked on. It began to hum, its plug dangling forgotten from the endtable.

Harry raised his eyebrows at Hermione at the electric hum, and she rolled her eyes. "My parents gave it to me when Ron and I moved in together. Something about how 'slowing down rows with the time it takes to make a cup of tea' encourages relationship longevity. My mum _knows_ things sometimes."

Harry laughed. "And how's that going? For row prevention?"

Hermione smiled, but side-stepped the question. "I'm sure you know. Ron can't keep his mouth shut." She seemed to lose herself for a moment before getting back on track "It was a sweet thought, though," she said. "Honestly, I was just glad to have them back, even if they were doing things like that."

Harry looked away—he didn't have much to say to that. They all still carried a lot of guilt.

They sat in silence for a moment until the teapot beeped, and Hermione levitated it toward them.

"Well, Child Protective never came to my school like that," Harry finally said, as Hermione materialized a second cup and dropped teabags into each manually while the teapot hovered expectantly by her head.

She pushed it away with one hand as if annoyed by her own charm before returning her attention to Harry.

" _Surely_ people knew you were living in a cupboard under the stairs, though," she said casually, finally allowing the teapot to pour water into the cups and return to its endtable; its plug curled up contentedly around itself, like a cat.

Harry couldn't help but laugh at such a Hermione-esque signature before answering Hermione's question—she was leaning forward over her desk more now; her thick hair wisped around her in a dark halo as she blew on the tea.

"Dumbledore, I guess," Harry answered with a shrug.

"Harry, you can't just say, 'Dumbledore, I guess,' to every question you're asked for the rest of your life," she reprimanded.

"Well, I don't _know_ , Hermione," Harry said tiredly. "I can't exactly go back in time and find out what a Muggle agency thought about the Dursleys, now can I?"

"Well no, the Department of Mysteries' timeturners—" Hermione started, but Harry interrupted.

"I was very good at avoiding questions when Child Protective came to the house."

"But you said—"

"I said they never came to the _school,_ because they always came to the _house_ ," Harry corrected. "And, every time they came, my cupboard would be magically cleaned—well, not magically, or maybe a little bit magically, I dunno. Things always happened when I was young that I didn't understand, you know how wizarding kids are. But the Dursleys would always stack their luggage in the cupboard and pull out the couch in Dudley's room to make it look like a bed, and they would have me put my backpack upstairs with Dudley's things and 'Voila!' A normal house, with two children. And _that's_ what Child Protective would see."

Hermione stared at him for a moment—clearly having not expected an actual answer—before asking: "But why didn't _you_ say something?"

"It wasn't like they were actually hitting me," Harry said defensively, and he shrugged as he relaxed. "They just threw things, and made me clean, and sent me to school in horrid clothes, and locked me up."

Hermione raised her eyebrows at the last one, as if challenging Harry to explain how that was not a Child Protective concern.

"I was a _child_ , Hermione—I didn't really realize that what they were doing wasn't okay. I'd never known any different until the Weasleys. And now we know all about the protective charm, and about my mum, so it was all for the—for the greater good." Harry looked down somewhat uncomfortably. "So, like I said... Probably Dumbledore."

Hermione plucked the teabags out of each cup and dropped them into her mug from the day before. She levitated Harry's cup toward him, and he took it, wrapping his fingers about it.

"Thanks," he said.

"Of course," said Hermione, distractedly. She picked up her own tea and sipped it cautiously before continuing with intention. "And, like you said, Harry, you were a child. It wasn't your job to protect yourself. I really didn't mean to imply that it was."

Harry didn't say anything. He spun his wedding band around a few times as he cradled the teacup. Head tilted to the side, he watched Hermione roll the kinks out of her ankles; her wool-socked feet pulled quietly at the rug under her desk.

"And you know how it is with people in power," Harry finally started again. He looked up, and they locked eyes. "With people that you're a little scared of, even when you shouldn't be because you know, deep down, that you're in the right."

Hermione nodded and crossed her feet under her chair as she leaned slightly more forward, "I do know."

He remained quiet, and she spoke: "You lie to protect yourself, because if you tell the truth, you're punished. You try to send a message to someone, but you don't know if, when they're gone, you'll make it at all."

Harry nodded. "See, I know you know," he said.

"Everything is replicated," Hermione replied quietly, with a sigh, as if she had barely heard him. "Every system is the same. From childhood bullies to slaveowners, from abusive parents to murderous Deatheaters... Every system expects the same thing from its victims, without being able to promise protection."

"Yeah," Harry replied, and they both looked away, and they drank their tea for a minute in silence. The tension in the room was thick, and Harry couldn't quite figure out why.

"You _couldn't_ have told, Harry," Hermione finally said, breaking the silence. "With the Dursleys working against you, and the social workers coming to your house where you were being abused, with the people who actually abused you—"

"It wasn't abuse—" Harry began to interrupt, but Hermione continued.

"And with magic we don't even now fully understand," she finished.

Harry didn't immediately reply, and they were both quiet.

"I know," he finally said, and he sat his cup down on the table with some measure of finality.

Hermione brightened and magiced his cup away to the corner with the teapot. She flicked her wand so that the curtains pulled back and late afternoon light immediately poured in.

"Good," she said curtly, and Harry grinned.

"Did you ambush me about that on purpose?" Harry asked, laughing. "Have you been talking to Ginny?"

"I didn't ambush you, Harry!" Hermione protested, suddenly imploring. "And Ginny and I don't talk about you a whole bunch, for goodness sake, Harry. I just—I, well..." she drifted off, embarrassed.

"Hermione!" Harry urged, laughing.

"Oh fine!" she exclaimed. "You know, with Ginny being pregnant, Harry—"

"Yeah, I reckon I know about that," he interjected.

"—and Ron and I thinking about it, and with Teddy growing up and he's always around and, I-—I just..." she trailed off again, clearly frustrated with her own words. "I've just been thinking about us all a lot, and I wanted to make sure you knew it wasn't your fault."

"I know it's not my fault," Harry said, leaning back in his chair. "I didn't lock _myself_ in a cupboard."

Hermione rolled her eyes again. "That's not why I—"

"So why else _did_ you ask?" Harry interrupted.

"What? Why would I ask for any other reason but us growing up, and you being my friend?" Hermione retorted, suddenly defensive herself.

"Well, it came out of nowhere, and we've both known about Ginny for, well, eight months," he said flatly, but with a shrug. "Has something happened that I should know about?"

"With whom?" Hermione squeaked.

"Like with Teddy," Harry said, sitting up now, and suddenly concerned in a way he hadn't been before. "Did Andromeda tell you something she hasn't told me? Merlin's beard, I knew we shouldn't have let her enroll him in that Muggle school—"

"No, no, no," Hermione rushed, standing up from her chair and coming round the desk. "Nothing like that, Harry, nothing like that. I was just—I was just curious, that's all."

In her hurry to him, she bumped into the desk, and her _for someone else to deal with_ pile fell to the floor in an enthusiastic mess of swirling papers.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed, dropping to her knees in a hurry.

Harry tapped at his wand and they sifted back into order under Hermione's hands.

"Oh, thank you, Harry" she said. "You know how I get when I'm upset. I forget I can magic things."

Harry frowned as Hermione stood with the papers and put them back on her desk.

"You didn't used to have a _for someone else to deal with_ pile," he said, eyes narrowed, and she stopped mid-movement before rounding the desk again and settling into her chair as if nothing had happened. "Have you got a promotion or something? Why are you all worked up?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Don't use your auror voice on me, Harry. It doesn't work," she said hotly. Harry raised her eyebrows and she reddened. "And don't look at me like that—I won't be manipulated like a suspect and—" She threw up her hands. "Frankly, I'm not _worked up_ , Harry! This isn't the nineteenth century! You can't blame a woman's emotions on hysteria and prescribe her masturbation to calm down, anymore!"

"Woah—" Harry said, now blushing as well, and holding his hands up in defense."I didn't mean to imply—"

But then Hermione was leaned over her desk, hands over her face, and crying.

"No," Hermione said from between her hands, "I'm so sorry. I know I'm being unreasonable. I get Ron to shut up by saying ridiculous things like that, so he gets embarrassed and lets off."

"You know that's not—" Harry began, feeling confused and very out of his depth.

"I don't need a lecture, Harry," she interrupted, sniffling. "Of _course_ I know that's not healthy. Why do you think my mum gave me a teapot to slow me down?"

She looked up and her face was red; her lightly-applied makeup was smudged around her eyes so she looked incredibly owlish, and Harry couldn't help but burst into laughter.

But as he laughed, he realized something.

"Hermione," he finally said, as she stared at him, still offended by his outburst. "Have you got a _promotion_ in your department?"

"What?" she asked, feigning surprise.

"The new pile, the worry over ineffective systems, the staying late and sending Ron to do the shopping—you've been given a new job, haven't you?"

Hermione froze for a moment and stared, and then looked like she was about to burst. "Oh, Harry, you can't _tell_ anyone," she rushed. "Ron has to think he was the first to know!"

"Believe me, I won't," Harry waved a hand at her and watched as she deflated behind her desk. She sunk into her chair until her elbows were pulling down on the armrests, and her head was barely visible behind her desk.

"I've got to oversee the whole program, Harry," she explained anxiously, wringing her hands. "Supervise employees; create outcome measurements; make new policies when the old ones don't work—and goodness knows they don't!—find ways to infiltrate houses if they won't let go of the old ways and, gosh Harry, I don't even know how I'm supposed to manage it all!"

Harry watched her ramble and roil, and then let her settle briefly. He then stood, but immediately stooped to pick up her shoes from the floor beside her desk, and then shrugged gently as he stood again.

"You'll manage it because you're Hermione Granger," he finally told her assuredly. "You'll find a way to do it."

"But what if I _miss_ something?!" Hermione asked emphatically. "What if I _miss_ something like Child Protective missed something with _you_ , and some poor being is left to struggle all on their own?"

She sounded desperate and looked as if she were about to cry again, so Harry dropped to his knees beside her and put her shoes on the floor in front of her, facing her, so she could easily slip her feet in—she didn't. He put a hand on one elbow and pulled her up until she was sitting up in her chair.

"You _won't_ , Hermione," he said quietly. "But, if you do, there will be people in your department to help you—it won't just fall on you. And you'll meet any problem you encounter head on when it happens, like you always have."

Hermione nodded. "I know, Harry."

"Do you, though?" he laughed.

"I do, I do." She waved her hand dismissively and wiped at her nose.

"You're the smartest and toughest girl I know," he reassured her, narrowing his eyes.

"Don't let Ginny hear you saying that," Hermione said as she cracked a smile.

Harry ignored her comment and clapped her on the knee. "Besides," he said, "all that stuff when I was a kid and Voldemort and all, and I turned out all right. So did you."

"You're a bit of a anomaly, though, Harry," Hermione contested immediately. She looked up and was once again unfailingly didactic. "You're literally called The-Boy-Who—"

"I know what I'm called, Hermione."

"Right, of course," she said, looking down. "Sorry."

Harry held out her hands to her until she took them and the he pulled her to her feet.

"Leave this stuff for _someone else_ to do—"

"I haven't got an assistant yet!" she protested

"— _or_ to do tomorrow. I got an owl from Ron just before I came in saying that Ginny's asking insistently for naan, so he's ordered a bunch of Indian—"

"But I sent him to the store!"

"And he went to a restaurant, Hermione. Honestly, what did you expect?"

"Oh, I just want a _little_ control over _something_!" she cried out suddenly.

Harry nudged her shoes with his toe and she slipped her feet into her clogs immediately, not meeting his eyes.

"Hermione, I can't think of a better person to lead this department than the person who created and captained the Society for the Protection of Elfish Welfare at age fourteen. You're about to have control over a _whole_ lot. _Slow. Down_."

Hermione breathed deeply through her nose and slipped her arms one at a time into her peacoat. She then guided her hat to her head and gently instructed her scarf to wrap itself around her neck.

Only the bridge of her nose and her smudged eyes were visible by the time she was finished, and Harry found himself smiling amusedly once again.

"It's _Promotion,_ Harry," she finally said, barely audible behind the well-wrapped wool piled to her ears.

"What?" he asked, as she shoved the scarf below her chin so she could speak unencumbered.

She flicked her wand one last time to tidy her desk before she crossed to the door. Holding open the door for Harry, she leaned slightly against it as she waited for him to leave.

"Honestly, it's only been about ten years. I thought you would have it straight by now," she continued

Harry looked at her incredulously as he walked out.

"Oh, Harry!" she exclaimed, and this time she burst into laughter instead. The curtains flew shut behind them and then the door, and she tapped its locks and murmured a series of words before turning to him again.

"I'm only _joking_ ," she said. "Goodness, sometime you're as easy as Ron!"

Harry spluttered as Hermione grabbed his upper arm and pulled him down the corridor.

"Let's leave by apparition today," Hermione said. "I can't wait to tell Ron about the job, and you've got to be _starving_."

Harry said nothing when he heard her stomach growl once again as they arrived at the area designated for apparition.

"Ready?" she asked, not waiting for an answer. She had tightened her grip on Harry's arm and pulled her toward him in preparation.

"Wait," he said suddenly. "Did you say you and Ron are thinking about having _children_?"

And then with a pop—and before she could answer—they were gone.

* * *

 **Later that day  
Somewhere in Devon**

Harry's question about children would be answered over dinner, after they had discussed Harry's concerns about Cardiff, how bored Ginny was by her maternity leave from the Holyhead Harpies, and Hermione's new promotion (about which no one, but her, had been surprised). But, as for the news about the two considering _children_ , no one was more surprised than _Ginny_ , who stopped—Palak-soaked naan halfway to her mouth—to cuff her brother about the head for failing to tell _her_ before anyone else.

That was nothing, however, compared to how she she would react a moment later when Ron dropped to his knee and asked Hermione to marry him.

Hermione dropped the bowl of Mattar Paneer she was holding so that it clanked clamorously on the floor and spewed chickpea in an impressive arc across the kitchen.

Her answer was lost in Ron's howl of pain as Ginny reprimanded him for again failing to let her know about such a major life decision, and Harry found himself doubled over with laughter as Teddy came tumbling in through the fireplace, Flooed from his grandmother's to say goodnight.

Teddy's small face was covered in soot and his hair changed color rapidly as he soaked in the excitement.

"What's happened? What's happened?" he cried, pushing his hands into Harry's face until he looked up from his laughter.

"Nothing, darling, nothing," Harry managed.

"Your Auntie Hermione's just got a _promotion_ is all," Ron said cheekily as he looked up from where he was kissing Hermione, who had put on the ring.

"Ronald!" she exclaimed, offended, as Ginny punched his shoulder (Harry wasn't sure in support of whom). "Don't say that in front of Teddy! He mustn't think it's all right to speak to women like that!"

"What? He doesn't even know what we're talking about," Ron countered. "Do you, Teddy?" he asked.

Teddy shook his head.

"And it's not like you're going to take back your _yes_ , are you?" Ron asked, turning back to Hermione.

Hermione smacked him smartly between the legs as Ginny let out a howl of unrestrained laughter, egging her on.

Harry stood and took Teddy's hand to pull him toward the counter.

"Look, Teddy," Harry said as he knelt beside them, "when Ron and Hermione fight, we make them tea, all right?"

"All right," he said.

Harry lifted him to the counter and glanced over to see Ginny lean back onto two legs of her chair and pull a large plastic vat toward her. Using her belly as a table, she watched her brother and best friend go at it.

"Here, you start the teapot. We'll use electricity so _you_ can do it," Harry told him.

And so, eventually—once Teddy had carried two cups of tottering tea to Ron and Hermione on a tray much too large for him—a tenuous peace was established, and they finished dinner and settled down.

After Ron cleaned up the broken bowl and scrubbed the Mattar off the walls, Hermione read Teddy a bedtime story. Harry tried not to watch as Ron melted as Hermione interacted with Teddy, and he looked away when Ron went from rubbing Hermione's shoulders as he hovered behind her to sitting beside her, hand on her inner thigh, as he leaned into her to give voice to the silly characters. Eventually, they had all told Teddy goodnight and sent him back to Andromeda with a pack of crackers, and then Hermione and Ron left for their apartment in the backyard, teasing each other as they trooped through the snow. Harry heard Hermione squeal, and then the door to their studio slammed shut behind them.

Harry lay down beside Ginny, who was peering at a copy of Xenophilius' paper from behind newly-prescribed reading glasses.

"You didn't have to urge her on, you know," he said after a moment of silence, staring at the ceiling as Ginny flipped a page.

"He's my brother," she said flatly, looking up at him over her glasses. "He deserved it, Harry. Besides, did you see the way they were looking at each other?"

Harry sighed. "Unfortunately. She's like my _sister_."

"Exactly," she said. "And, besides, you wouldn't _believe_ what Ron told this worker once at our babysitter's, the week after Fred and George turned all his stuffed bears into spiders. Mum sent us to Muggle preschool for a few weeks after that incident until they got Fred and George's magic under control at home." She laid down her book on the bedside table, and turned onto her side to face Harry, her arms wrapped round her belly.

"Worried they would accidentally do something nasty to us while Mum wasn't looking, I guess."

Harry tucked hair behind her ear and laughed. "Makes sense," he said. She continued.

"I was tiny, like three—he always tells it like he's three, but he's wrong—and there was apparently a problem with supervision at this preschool. Some kid had run away and ended up in the river, apparently, because these Muggle Child Protective workers came and asked all the kids questions. I answered all there questions with _yes's_ and _no's_ like a normal toddler, but Ron decided to tell them that _someone_ in our house broke our things to scare us and make us listen. He was referring to the spider-incident and Fred, of course, but he was five and an idiot, so they didn't know that. Anyway, these workers tried to come out to visit us after school hours, you know, to find out who lived with us, but they couldn't find us, of course, because Ron gave them our home address—idiot—and our home address is enchanted."

Harry had no idea how this story related to Ron and Hermione's sexual conduct, but he let her continue.

"So the _next_ day," she said, "they came to the school and talked to me for an _hour_ to make sure I was all right and that I wasn't lying, and by the time I had convinced them—as much as a four-year-old can convince anyone—that I was all right and that we just had two seven-year-old brothers, Ron had tried to solve the problem himself by—"

"Ginny, look, I'm sorry," Harry interrupted, running a hand down her cheek and putting a hand on her stomach below the covers. "But what does this have to do with you egging Hermione on?"

Ginny stared at him a moment as if he were asking her what color the sky is before exclaiming, "Children, Harry!"

"Children?"

"Yes," she said.

"Did Hermione talk to you about our conversation in her office today?"

"What conversation?" Ginny asked, putting her hand on top of his so that they were both near the baby. "Did you talk to Hermione about children today?"

"About Child Protective—nevermind," Harry said. "What _about_ children?"

"Look, Harry," Ginny said. "Sex makes children."

"Merlin's tits, Ginny, I know that. What do you think we've been doing for the past—"

"And the way they were just looking to each other and they've just got engaged, fighting like cats and dogs. Well, I hardly think Ron should be having children yet, and the more Hermione can do to slow him down, the better, even if that means giving him a good knee in the crotch."

Harry stared at her, openmouthed.

"Look, can you imagine a child with Ron's personality and Hermione's intelligence? It would be unbearable. I am not ready for that. The _world_ is not ready for that. Muggle _schools_ are not ready for that, and neither are we, people poking around in our houses looking for problems, especially with them living in our backyard."

"Well..." Harry trailed off, thinking of the fight Teddy had witnessed an hour before.

"But I'm sure they won't be having an issue with kids for a while yet," Ginny said reassuringly, dropping the conversation.

She rolled back over and picked up her magazine, pushing her glasses back up her nose.

Harry said nothing and stared at the ceiling again, thinking.

"Ginny, what do you mean Ron won't be having a problem with that for a while?" he finally asked again.

She flicked the newspaper to straighten one of the pages that had been drooping. "You're not the only one who's good at magic, Harry."

"Ginny, what did you do?"

"It'll just last tonight, until they have time to think about—"

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about?"

"Harry, go to sleep."

"Whatever you've done, Ginny, I'm not sure it's legal."

Ginny raised her eyebrows, and Harry swallowed harshly.

"Well, you're not telling anyone, are you?"

He shook his head dumbly.

"Go to sleep, sweetheart. They can make a kid tomorrow if they really want to," Ginny reassured, looking at him. "It won't hurt any of us to slow down."

And so Harry snaked his arm behind Ginny's neck and pulled her close, so that she could lay her magazine on his chest as she read.

"Jesus, I shouldn't have eaten that second bowl of curry. I feel like crap," she said absentmindedly, flipping the page.

Harry kissed her temple supportively and then went back to thinking about Cardiff and whether he would take the Floo network in the morning, or get up early enough to tag along with Ron and Hermione.

He would take it one step at a time—he would slow down, just as he had told Hermione, and just as Ginny had told him.

Take it slow.

And then Ginny's water broke, and everything became chaotic, and it was the last time in the next twenty-five years that he would ever, _ever_ be able to follow his own perfectly good advice.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Please consider leaving a review on your way out. Happy weekend!_


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